With broken arms, a nasty note and a dead rat
I carry with me her suspension of disbelief.
Why can't I be the genius who solves the greatest problems of his time?
Am I even beyond metaphorical assistance?
Why must I be the paintbrush when we need a wrench?
Her arrival at the correct velocity in order to perceive
has been canceled and filed away.
This abstraction shall repeat.
13 years ago